


The City Comes First

by CptSacredSaxon



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Book: Men At Arms, Book: Night Watch, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Character Death, The Glorious Twenty-Fifth of May
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 06:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21248588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CptSacredSaxon/pseuds/CptSacredSaxon
Summary: ‘I want to do something I’ll regret in the morning!’ Downey announced, rather proud of himself.Ludo laughed, ‘Why would you want to do that?’‘Because,’ Downey said, as seriously as the gin in his blood would let him, ‘The things one regrets the morning after are almost always the things one is glad to have done when one is old and grey.’‘That’s uncharacteristically deep of you Downey,’ Vetinari murmured, starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, ‘And rather optimistic to think you’ll live that long.’Or, an overview of Downey and Vetinari's relationship through the years, told through a kiss.





	The City Comes First

**Author's Note:**

> So this began as Downey reacting to Vetinari being shot at the end of Men At Arms...and then it got longer. Waaaaaay longer. Woops. Enjoy :)

Downey didn’t remember when it started, or even where. But he knew where it ended (if that was the right word for acceptance).

He was standing in the Oblong Office, a few feet in front of the Patrician’s desk. Downey’s fingers twitched. He could still feel the phantom imprint of Vetinari’s cool, slender handshake from hours earlier. Today, Downey was a Lord, not a Doctor – years before, Downey had thought it wonderfully ironic to earn the title of healer for his thesis on the use of medicinal plants as poisons. He wondered now why he had put such importance on showcasing how terribly clever he had believed he was. 

Tomorrow, images more grey than black and white would adorn the front page of the Ankh-Morpork _Times_, depicting the Patrician formally welcoming the new Head of the Assassins as the pair stood on the steps of the Palace. The other Guild leaders would be grainy blobs, clustered in the background and smiling the fixed grimaces of public officials.

Now, it was just the two of them, discussing civil matters, but the perfunctory subjects had dried up for the moment, and the Patrician was quietly scribbling (too chaotic a word for the poise Vetinari emanated).

Downey stood watching him, still feeling as hollow as he had since Vimes had started running towards the carriage the day before (or had it been two days? Or just this morning?). All he could hear was the silence echo after the gonne shot.

So Downey stood and watched, and breathed consciously and evenly, his mind as blank and calm as the sea before lightning strikes. Downey had never been a patient man, and it was taking a considerable amount of effort to not start thinking about _it_ because otherwise he would go mad (again).

‘As for the matter concerning any evidence of the…instrument – ,’ the Patrician intoned, but he was interrupted.

‘Destroyed.’ Downey stated, his voice as blunt and detached as his soul currently felt, but Vetinari had looked up at the interruption and could see the faraway look in Downey’s storming eyes.

Downey wondered if the Patrician would hear the words that Downey left unspoken, the words full of rage and mindless fury. _I ripped the place apart, I put my fist through walls and hurled items and kicked through floorboards, I tore doors off the hinges and wrenched books from the shelves so hard the wood splintered, I smashed anything that could shatter or crack or break and I burnt everything that would catch, burnt it all._

Those were words that came from Will Downey, the boar of a boy whose enormous ego was matched only by his excessively short temper, not the words of Dr William Downey or Lord Downey, Head of the Assassins.

The Lord Patrician of Ankh-Morpork would not, should not, hear these unspoken words because he did not know Will, and would therefore respond to Downey’s utterance, possibly with a raised eyebrow and a pithy remark, like, ‘That was fast.’

But Havelock Vetinari knew Will, knew the Downey with tiger stripes painted on his face, and after a moment quietly replied, ‘Such haste can make a fool of you, Downey.’ He did not frown. But as well as Vetinari knew Downey, Downey at least had grown up with the Patrician, and could almost make out the words Vetinari left unsaid. (_You are behaving extremely dangerously Downey_). Even his spill words were controlled.

Downey shrugged like it was of little importance, but any feigned casualness was forsaken by his refusal to meet Vetinari’s eyes. ‘You were shot,’ Downey said, as though this explained everything. (It did.)

‘And yet one would think that in matters of civil importance a thorough approach is generally in order,’ Vetinari said. (_Do you ever stop to think, do you know what calculated risk _is_, do you realise the damage you could have done to the city._) He seemed almost disappointed with Downey, as if he had expected more from him. That would have been a first.

‘You were shot,’ Downey repeated. _You were shot. I saw it happen, I saw you collapse. If you hadn’t stood at the last second it would have gone through your heart not your leg, if you hadn’t seen Vimes running you wouldn’t have stood, if Vimes hadn’t been running you would never have known, if – _

‘I am quite aware that of that,’ Vetinari replied icily. Again, Downey heard the spill words that Vetinari was so careful not to say. (_You’re spiralling, Downey._)

‘The whole city saw you shot,’ Downey said, a faraway look in his eyes. There had been a lot of blood. Strangely, Downey had never thought that it was even possible for Vetinari to bleed that much.

‘Yes,’ said Vetinari, frowning almost imperceptibly, ‘After all, it did happen in the city. What is dangerous has always been found to be rather attractive, and therefore newsworthy, to Ankh-Morpork. The daredevil streak in this city will one day demand it’s pay.’

‘The city wasn’t shot, you were!’ Downey all but growled.

Vetinari did not reply for a few moments, instead watching him, and the sheer intensity of his sharp stare seemed to try and pull Downey back to the here and now, ‘As you well know, Downey, when considering such events, the city does come first.’ (_Not you_).

It was this that finally snapped Downey back into himself, hard and sudden and full of rage.

‘I know!’ Downey snarled, facing the Patrician properly. Vetinari did not even blink at the sudden explosion, though all this did was to make Downey’s blood boil even more. He stalked forward so that his face was inches from the Patrician’s and slammed his fists onto the desk. Downey wanted him to react, to blink, anything, to prove to the world that the cool, calculating man was alive.

‘I know the city comes first, alright! But for gods-sake, we’re not all as cold as you! We can’t stay so calm and in control all the time, so forgive me that I’m not so detached but occasionally people find themselves actually having emotions! But you! Everything has worked out for you hasn’t it? You don’t even crack a smile! You’ve got all your people everywhere and don’t for a second think I don’t know I’m one of them! And I know where I stand, I know, so you don’t have to worry I’ll mess up your perfect little machinations, be in no doubt that I will put the Guild first in all matters and everything will work out just how you want it, but bloody hell, you were shot! You almost died! I know that all you care for is the city – ’

‘Don’t – ’ Vetinari began, warningly, but Downey cut him off.

‘I know – I accept – that the city is always going to come first for you, as the Guild will for me, but right now, right NOW…’ Downey took a shaky breath, ‘You were shot.’ He whispered and leant forward too fast for Vetinari to move away and kissed him.

Downey could feel the chaos in his head pushing itself to the forefront of his mind, but he ignored it for the moment. His heart thumped in his ears – it had fallen silent when the Patrician had collapsed, blood pouring from his leg. The tumultuous uproar of his thoughts that screamed at him were likewise ignored – Dog-Botherer was alive, and everything they had never talked about, never openly acknowledged or let affect their behaviour, Downey put into the kiss.

Downey hadn’t kissed Vetinari first since after it began, not since he’d been young and drunk and idiotic. It had always been Vetinari who initiated, who struck, who made the move. Quite simply, it had always been Vetinari.

~ _(Twenty years earlier)_ ~

It was New Year’s Eve, and the Guild common room was full of music and packed with jubilant boys so drunk on liquor that they thought themselves men. Downey swaggered around the room – though with the mostly empty bottle in his hand, staggered seemed more appropriate – cheering with those he passed, cajoling with his fellow students. Over the music he heard a tipsy Ludo shout for someone to kiss him when the clock struck. Downey laughed as the city began to chime the new year, and found himself pushed by the tide of the party into Dog-Botherer. What a scag, Downey said. Dog-Botherer sniffed delicately at this, and feeling exceptionally jovial and rather cheeky, Downey laughed, grabbed him by the neck and pulled their mouths together.

Downey tasted like gin and smoke, and Vetinari tasted like snow and stone, his breath laced with red wine.

The jostling crowd pushed them apart, and Dog-Botherer’s face was lit for a moment by the fireworks outside. He took in Downey’s gormless, gaping expression, and chuckled, silent beneath the roar of the evening.

~

It was almost three months into the new term, and student tensions were running high as they struggled to cope with their extraordinary workload. Of all the places Vetinari had thought he would have to deal with his obnoxious classmates, the narrow back shelves of the library in the early morning was not one of them.

‘Downey, just give me the book,’ Vetinari demanded. He hadn’t slept in the last few days, too busy with Mericet’s essays on drawn-out methods of inhumation – most of his classmates were now thinking the answer to be stress – and so Vetinari’s usual above-this-nonsense demeanour was wearing thin.

‘Shan’t,’ Downey said, still holding the book aloft and out of Vetinari’s reach.

Somehow, a book Downey had randomly plucked from the shelves had been the only copy of one Vetinari rather seriously needed. He knew, later, that he would be ashamed of the violent scuffle he and Downey had had over the book (not just because Downey had momentarily won), but at the moment Vetinari was just infuriated. They were uncomfortably close in the confined space, and it grated on his nerves that Downey, not even two inches separating them in height after their recent growth spurts, still dangled the book above his head. He made a great show of slowly running his finger across the line of text, though Vetinari could tell by the movement of his eyes that Downey was not taking in a single word.

‘You don’t even need it!’ Vetinari snapped, angrily pushing a stray lock of hair off his forehead. The late summer heat and pressure of studies had left much of the Guild’s student population in a dishevelled state, as had the rough argument over the book.

‘I need it to annoy you,’ Downey replied nastily, actually sticking his tongue out at Vetinari, who had the sudden urge to bite it. So he did. Exasperated, frustrated, sleep-deprived and angry, Vetinari decided he would just have to stoop to Downey’s level in order to acquire the book. He shot forward, grabbed Downey by the collar to yank him down, closing the small gap to claim a kiss - if such a delicate word was appropriate for the rough and vindictive action. There was a muffled noise from Downey and a soft thud of a falling book as Vetinari’s hands moved from his collar to his chest, where he promptly fisted his hands in the fabric of shirt to pull Downey even further down as his knee came up into Downey’s stomach. Downey toppled forward with a grunt, Vetinari picked the book up from where it had fallen on the floor, smirked at Downey, and strolled off.

~

It was still dark, when, in the early hours of the twenty-sixth of May, Downey made his way sluggishly down to the communal showers. He was in a decidedly grumpy mood, had been since he’d woken with tiger-stripes painted on his face the day before; though Ludo reckoned he’d been in a sour mood for days (Downey blamed it on his scag father and Ludo had nodded knowingly, yet Downey felt Ludo hadn’t believed him). Annoyed by this statement, and in no desire to rub shoulders with his peers, Downey had decided to get pathetically drunk and only ventured out of his room long after the sun had set. He stalked through the corridors, aimlessly cracking his knuckles as he skulked around the deserted Guild.

At least, the Guild should have been empty, which was why Downey had been looking forward to a peaceful shower without the hassle of his peers, and why he began to bristle when he realised there was somebody already there. If it hadn’t been for the heady scent of lilac mixed with blood, sweat and dirt, Downey might not have noticed the lone figure.

The person was sitting on a bench, slumped forward, clad not in assassin-black but dark murky colours; the posture was one of exhaustion and numb contemplation. He hadn’t made any real effort to undress for a shower, though he sorely needed one. Downey was sure that he himself had moved soundlessly, but the person was suddenly on his feet and staring straight at him.

‘Who the – wait,’ Downey said, his eyes adjusting to the gloom, ‘Dog-Botherer? Is that you? What the…’

Vetinari hadn’t moved a muscle, but Downey could see clearly now that it was him. A small pool of blood and dirt had accumulated at his feet, and Downey wondered how long Dog-Botherer had been sitting here, staring at the floor. (The thought that all the blood might have been Dog-Botherer’s never crossed Downey’s mind.) Why could he smell lilac?

‘What the bloody hell happened?’ Downey asked, worried. He realised he’d been carefully approaching Vetinari as if he were a wounded animal and dropped his hands abruptly. Vetinari’s stare didn’t waver from his face, oddly piercing.

‘There’s been quite a lot of fighting throughout the city,’ Vetinari replied quietly, ‘Riots. The army was called in. Cavalry is still patrolling the streets. You haven’t heard?’

Downey missed most of the response, too unnerved by Vetinari’s tone and expression Normally the slim young man was cold and detached, distant and aloof. But right now, he seemed…hollow. Exhausted. Even…frightened? Downey was unsure of what had changed, but he disliked it immensely.

‘No, all I’ve heard today is my raging hangover,’ Downey scowled. He moved past Dog-Botherer to the showers, beginning to undress. This situation was highly uncomfortable, and Downey wished the weird strain hanging between them would disappear before he was unnerved. He turned the shower taps on and let the wasted water flow into the drain as he shrugged his jacket off.

‘Why? Anything important?’ Downey asked, ‘What’s up with you anyway Dog-Botherer? You’re acting weird.’

‘Lord Winder is dead,’ said Vetinari, ignoring the second question, ‘Snapcase is Patrician.’

‘Oh joy,’ muttered Downey, kicking his shoes off, ‘No surprise there, Winder was an utter scag. Snapcase though…That one’ll be paranoid within a month, I reckon. He isn’t fond of Assassins either, from what I’ve heard, so that’ll be fun.’ He sighed, ‘Might as well enjoy living while we still – ’

Downey didn’t get to finish his sentence, because all of sudden Vetinari had slammed him bodily against the wall, mouth on his, pressed against him so tightly that the water from the showers took a moment to trickle its way between them. The tiles were hard and cold, the water pouring on them made it hard to breathe, Downey’s bare feet were slipping on the floor and his head ached from where he’d cracked it against the wall. But Downey registered none of this.

This wasn’t anything like the kiss at New Years, which had left Downey numb, or the sneaked peck in the library which had left him angry and confused, not to mention with a sore stomach and a bruised ego.

Vetinari was kissing him hungrily, ferocious and almost desperate, and Downey had never before felt so completely anchored in the here and now. There was something wild in it, such a departure from Vetinari’s usual perfectly controlled demeanour that Downey couldn’t get enough of. There was no part of Downey that ever considered, even for a moment, pushing him away.

Instead there were hands clutching at fabric and hair and skin as the torrent of water soaked them through as clothes were discarded, eyes barely able to blink against the spray. There were teeth and tongues and boiling skin pressed against freezing tiles, and fingers digging in so hard the nails left marks.

It wasn’t gentle or slow, but nor was it violent or hurried. It was just them, revelling in this moment of their youth. At some point Downey managed to switch their positions, hand braced against the wall, so that it was Vetinari with his bare back against the tiles. At some point Vetinari managed to direct their wandering, groping hands so they held each other together, and Downey all but bit through the pale skin of Dog-Botherer’s shoulder.

When it was over, bruises and hickeys were left, and muscles worn out, and Downey’s mind felt wonderfully empty and his soul fully alive.

When day broke, they didn’t acknowledge it.

~

It was just over a week before the final exam for those taking the black, when Vetinari opened his door to a series of rather chaotic knocks.

‘Dog-Botherer!’ Downey cheered, or maybe jeered. It was hard to tell given that the blonde young man was at least three drinks in, if the redness of his cheeks and the clumsy way he leant against the doorframe was anything to go by. Behind him stood a handful of their other classmates, who cheered excessively at Vetinari’s unamused expression.

‘C’mon!’ Downey insisted without explanation, attempting to drag Vetinari into the corridor, ‘We’ve got goals! Don’t be a scag.’

Vetinari turned to Ludo with a raised eyebrow, as he seemed to be the least inebriated – either because he was the most sensible or had an impressive level of alcohol tolerance. Knowing his classmates, Vetinari suspected the answer was a mixture of the two.

‘We are celebrating the exams,’ Ludo told him, grinning.

Vetinari frowned, ‘They are a week away.’

‘So we gotta get drunk now!’ Downey said impatiently, finally managing to rather goofily tug Vetinari out into the corridor as Ludo clarified that this way they would get the hangovers over and done with early. After collecting a few more of their surprised classmates, Downey led the group to the common room, clambered ungracefully onto a table, and waxed poetic for ten minutes about the fleeting nature of youth and the frailty of mortality.

‘His father disowned him,’ Ludo whispered to Vetinari, ‘Said he wouldn’t have an Assassin for a son.’

‘And he requires an audience to drown his sorrows?’ replied Vetinari scathingly.

Ludo shrugged, ‘Actually I think it’s a good idea. We’re not all coming back from the test, and given how Snapcase is going through the Guild…well at least everyone gets one last party.’ He paused as Downey finished waxing lyrical and started riling up their peers about something. ‘Ah, here he goes. This was my idea,’ Ludo pointed out, ‘One last party, might as well all achieve a life goal.’

‘A life goal?’ Vetinari raised his eyebrow sceptically.

‘Just a small goal,’ Ludo chuckled, ‘You know, something dumb and easily manageable. Achieve something before we kick it. Live a little.’

Downey had now finished his soliloquy and had stumbled over to them, a gin bottle swinging dangerously from his fingers. ‘Wolcott is going to abseil from the dorm using sheets,’ he informed them triumphantly, ‘Two others are playing Klatchian roulette, Casper’s piercing his own ear, and Spiggins has gone to try get a free drink by showing his tits.’

‘Where’d Ainsbury just run off to?’

‘Gone to steal the Lord’s pants,’ Downey laughed, almost doubling over. When he had finished giggling he looked around the room. ‘Ludo!’ Downey shouted, ‘Shame on us, we haven’t got your goal yet!’

As Downey sped off, Vetinari inquired what Ludo had wanted to achieve this evening. Ludo cackled, ‘I wanted to get everyone idiotically drunk!’

Downey reappeared by his elbow holding another bottle, this one full of milky liquid.

‘Drink,’ Downey ordered as he shoved the bottle into Vetinari’s hands, ‘Don’t be a scag Dog-Botherer, you’ll make Ludo cry if he doesn’t achieve his goal.’ He guffawed at his own joke, clapping Ludo heartily on the back, who smiled as Downey went off to plaster the rest of their classmates with alcohol. Vetinari looked at the bottle. It was a Tsortean spirit known as tiger’s milk. He wondered if Downey had just coincidentally chosen one of Vetinari’s favourite drinks.

Surveying the room, Vetinari decided that such juvenile activities, though frivolous, would likely not be available to him again anytime soon, if ever. Thinking of what Madame would undoubtedly say about such missed opportunities, Vetinari inwardly shrugged and took a drink.

Over the next few hours, one person set themselves on fire, another snuck into the kitchens to bake an unhealthy amount of biscuits in an attempt to use up the Guild’s entire supply of butter, three people had decided to run nude through the city (only two had come back so far), two people had been arrested, and Jenkins was in the corner doing a handstand while smoking a cigarette, and determined to continue until dawn.

Downey found his way back over to Ludo and Vetinari, who had been watching the evening’s antics with amusement and were currently debating whether or not Wolcott would manage to sprint across the Ankh river without breaking the crust.

‘A toast to success,’ Ludo grinned as Downey plopped down on the couch next to him.

Downey snickered, ‘Did you see Crompton’s tattoo? Haha, he’s going to regret saying he could grow a better moustache than Daniels.’

‘Daniels tattooed a moustache on Crompton?’ Vetinari asked, curious.

Downey nodded, ‘Yeah, but not on his face.’ He made a rude gesture to the afflicted part of the anatomy. The corners of Vetinari mouth twitched.

‘What about you Will?’ Ludo said suddenly, turning away from Vetinari, who realised that Ludo had been watching him. ‘You haven’t thought of a goal yet. Can’t let the night end until you’ve done something wonderfully idiotic.’

Downey pondered this for a moment, the consideration he was putting into his answer evident on his face.

‘I want to do something I’ll regret in the morning!’ Downey announced, rather proud of himself.

Ludo laughed, ‘Why would you want to do that?’

‘Because,’ Downey said, as seriously as the gin in his blood would let him, ‘The things one regrets the morning after are almost always the things one is glad to have done when one is old and grey.’

‘That’s uncharacteristically deep of you Downey,’ Vetinari murmured, starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, ‘And rather optimistic to think you’ll live that long.’

Ludo cracked up at this, while Downey smirked and rolled his eyes. ‘What about you Dog-Botherer? What do you intend on doing?’

‘Maybe shut you up for a while, Will,’ Ludo giggled as he stood up, wobbling a little, ‘Save us all from his endless monologues and bad ideas.’ Again, the corners of Vetinari’s mouth twitched into a half-smile. Ludo downed the rest of his drink and stretched, ‘Alright I’m off to dreamy land. Will, I’m sure you’ll regret whatever you do to have fun. Goodnight all.’

‘Hopefully for your sake regret comes easier to you than embarrassment,’ Vetinari said to Downey, draining his glass.

Downey shrugged, pushing Ludo out the door as he threw a scathing look at Vetinari. He turned to Vetinari, ‘C’mon Dog-Botherer, let’s get you home. Wouldn’t want you to miss your beauty sleep, gods know you need it.’

Vetinari opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of, as it would be best to leave the common room before any of the professors found their class, since some of whom were now urinating off the balcony. Besides, he was curious to see if Downey was able to walk in a straight line.

Downey however, it transpired, was nowhere near as drunk as he appeared, or at the very least had passed the peak of inebriation. He accompanied Vetinari back to the same room he had dragged him from hours earlier, rattling on about the best way to pair mint with arsenic. Despite himself, Vetinari found himself listening attentively to this Downey who had a fascinating amount of opinions on the techniques of culinary inhumation.

Downey stopped his seemingly endless stream of spoken consciousness when they reached Vetinari’s door. Looking at Vetinari with an odd expression on his face, Downey said, ‘You know, Dog-Botherer, you never did tell us what your goal for the night was.’

‘None of my goals were possible to achieve during your little circus tonight,’ Vetinari told him simply. He noticed they were the same height now. When had that happened?

Downey nodded knowingly, then shrugged, breaking their gaze, his face closed off once more. Anyone lacking an Assassin’s education in gentlemanly conduct would have shuffled their feet at this point.

‘It is…disappointing,’ said Vetinari after a moment, ‘That no one assist you after you so gallantly goaded everyone into drunken escapades.’

‘Careful Dog-Botherer, that almost sounds like an offer. Wouldn’t want people to think you’re not totally apathetic.’

‘If it _was _an offer,’ snapped Vetinari rather impatiently, ‘It would need to be worth my while.’

‘Well I should think I’m worth quite a lot.’

‘Is that so?’

‘I would certainly do my best. I’d prove it to you, if you’d risk it.’

There was a silence that seemed to stretch forever as the two young men stood in the empty corridor, a pair of black silhouettes motionless in the dark. Then…‘Fine.’

It was just as well that there was still a week to go before the exam, because Downey could barely walk the next day. He never did achieve his goal though – waking up stiff and sore with Dog-Botherer’s warm, dozing weight still pressing him into the bed, Downey couldn’t quite find it in himself to regret it.

~

It was a week after they had hung Wolcott’s body from the lamp post in Sator Square, and three weeks since Dr Follet had been found floating in the river, minus his head. Snapcase had already whittled their numbers to three quarters of what the Guild once was, and with each slaughtered Assassin, Lord Snapcase grew ever more paranoid and bloodthirsty. Vetinari prided himself on his self-control, but when he first saw Wolcott’s corpse hanging limp, guts pulled out through his bowels, Vetinari had to fight down the urge to vomit. The ineptitude and carelessness of the whole bloody charade irked Vetinari just as much as did the unnecessarily nauseating and exaggerated gore.

Those Assassins who could were getting out, and spontaneous absence from the city had become the morbid fashion – more so since Wolcott had been spouting plans of his imminent departure just days before he was departed from life. Secrecy and silence had always been the watchwords of the Assassins; now they were fast becoming lifelines. 

‘Apparently the annual Klatch camel races have delayed the shipments of coffee,’ Ludo told Vetinari casually over breakfast, ‘It should be back to normal by tomorrow morning though.’

Vetinari nodded slightly at the seemingly inconsequential statement. He was glad that Ludo was escaping from Snapcase’s insane regime, though he did wonder if he would ever see Ludo again after tomorrow, once the elegant young man had escaped to the deserts of Klatch.

‘I am more partial to tea,’ Vetinari replied. (_Why are you telling me this?_)

‘Yes, you do seem to drink a large amount of that expensive Hubwards leaf juice,’ Ludo said mildly, buttering himself a piece of toast, ‘You must’ve gone through most of the Guild’s stores by now.’ (_You’re leaving too, aren’t you Havelock, and soon. The Grand Sneer?_)

‘Well, as I have never seen you drink tea, that shouldn’t bother you.’ Vetinari replied bluntly. (_What are you insinuating Ludo?_)

‘No, you’re forgetting the time I lost a bet to Will that he couldn’t rob a whole cartload in broad daylight. I had to drink a gallon of the stuff as forfeit.’

Oh, thought Vetinari, that was what Ludo was insinuating. Downey, who had been disowned from both his family and inheritance, who eeked out a living on a post-graduate scholarship, would not be leaving the city. There was no way he could afford to escape Ankh-Morpork’s culling of Assassins, let alone afford anything like the Grand Sneer Vetinari was planning. (Well, what would look to an outside observer like a Grand Sneer.) The implications of this was clear enough, but Vetinari grew uneasy wondering what else Ludo was implying. Ludo had always been much smarter than he let on.

‘Ah,’ said Vetinari after a while, ‘I vaguely recall that. I hope you learnt something from the experience.’ (_I saw Downey talking with you about him taking a sabbatical at the Teacher’s Guild. He’s not as dumb as he looks, why are you worrying about him. Why do you think I should worry about him? What do you know Ludo? What do you _think_ you know?_)

Ludo held his gaze for a moment before shrugging, ‘Well, you know what they say, you live and learn.’ He stood up, ‘See you in Stealth class, Dog-Botherer.’

He left Vetinari alone at the table, sifting through the multiple hidden layers of meaning.

First, Downey would inevitably be transferring to the Teacher’s Guild for the time being, and the distance from the Assassins might benefit his chances of survival, but not indefinitely. (Vetinari wondered why Ludo seemed to think that Vetinari would like to know this).

Second, Ludo had just said his final goodbye to Vetinari. (Vetinari had been marked absent from Stealth classes for the last four years). He knew Vetinari was leaving just as surely as himself.

Third, Ludo knew, or suspected, that Downey and Vetinari’s childish feud turned amiable tolerance might be…more. (Privately, Vetinari speculated that “tolerance” was stretching the definition of the term.)

Fourth – Ludo was telling him, in no uncertain terms, that it was far, far better to regret action than it was to regret inaction. _Ah yes_, he thought as he drained his glass of water, _may as well_. The future was coming, but until the next morning, it was still the present. 

So it was, that in the late hours of the night, when most of the Guild had retired to their beds, Downey entered his own room and found Vetinari lounging on the window sill. He shut the door carefully behind him.

They were quiet this time, every word left unsaid. Slower, too, every touch lingering, every deep kiss designed to sear into memory. The burning images of porcelain skin and darkened eyes imprinted on his vision, the taste of his mouth scorched onto his lips. The gentle pressure of Vetinari’s weight as he straddled Downey, hands cupped around his neck, not even breaking their kiss to draw breath. The intoxicating sound of ragged panting and the feeling of gasps against his skin, the heat of Vetinari’s body completely encapsulating him. All so intense, and so vividly real.

When Downey woke, alone, the next morning, the sheets where Dog-Botherer had lain were cold. He packed his room up a week later, and moved to the Teacher’s Guild, where he was apprenticed to a mathematics professor. He didn’t look back.

~

Years had passed by the time Vetinari returned to Ankh-Morpork. His reappearance was marked by no one; one day, he was not in the city, and the next, he had been home for months. He spent the first weeks retracing his old haunts (Vetinari disliked this term – it exuded an air of adolescence that he was sure was entirely unnecessary) and making polite conversation with those he must. Lord Snapcase’s paranoia had only increased with the onset of senility – thus Vetinari was careful that news of his return did not reach the ears of any but those he decided should.

As such, it was mildly surprising when the apple on his plate was unceremoniously plucked from the table a week later, as Vetinari was finishing his lunch at a small unobtrusive café overlooking Hide Park.

Vetinari blinked and looked up from his crossword as the apple thief lounged into the chair opposite. The other man said nothing for the moment but merely took a large bite of the apple, a perfect example of nonchalance.

‘Vetinari,’ Downey nodded, still crunching on the apple.

‘Downey,’ Vetinari replied tersely.

‘It’s actually Dr Downey now,’ Downey told him with a vicious smirk.

‘And I remain a Lord,’ Vetinari said coolly, his gaze returning to the crossword. Downey’s eyes narrowed at this, but he did not scowl. It was an unkind jab – Downey had always been rather insecure about his humble (too nice a word) origins – but Vetinari was impressed that the other man seemed to have finally grown up enough to not wear his heart on his sleeve. Years ago, such a retort from Vetinari would have resulted in something being thrown at his head.

Silence returned to the table. Vetinari focused on the crossword clue (“buggered feet”) as Downey continued munching away. It seemed that he had finally grown into those broad shoulders, and his tailored suit did nothing to soften the harsh lines of muscles. The blacker-than-sin attire only accentuated the predatory stance that Downey had always managed to convey, even when slouched. The awkward sneer of childhood had matured into a grin that Vetinari was sure could be disarming both figuratively and literally.

‘How was it?’ Downey asked suddenly.

Vetinari looked up. Downey was staring at him, patient and intense. Very intense, and worryingly patient. Downey – who was, admittedly, an intense personality – was being patient. He had to be asking about the Grand Sneer, not about a night years ago. He can’t possibly be asking _that_, Vetinari thought, Downey is a simple man, he had to be asking about the Grand Sneer. You’ve been analysing people too much, Vetinari chided himself.

Downey’s gaze remained steady and unblinking. Simultaneously the simplest and most chaotic man Vetinari had ever known.

‘It was…good,’ Vetinari replied blankly, ‘Very good. But I do not intend to divert my attention from the city like that again.’

After a moment, Downey nodded. ‘Learn anything interesting on your trip?’ he asked, taking another large bite of the apple.

‘One should always take the opportunity to learn new and exciting things when or wherever the chance arises,’ Vetinari replied with a cool look, ‘As a teacher you should understand that. For instance, I found my time in Uberwald to be most instructive.’

A muscle jumped in Downey’s cheek.

‘Then again, I understand that mathematics do not differ over the Disk,’ Vetinari continued.

‘Clearly you didn’t spend enough time in Djelibeybi,’ Downey responded curtly. There was turbulence in the grey of his eyes. After a moment he smiled maliciously and added, ‘Maybe I’m not cut out to teach numbers. Might try my hand at something else…There’s a post teaching botany at the Guild opening up soon. Could be nice.’

‘To return to ones roots after time elsewhere is an oft underappreciated joy,’ Vetinari whispered so softly that by rights Downey couldn’t have heard, but the storm in his gaze settled. Louder, Vetinari added, ‘I was unaware of upcoming changes in the Guild teaching staff.’

Downey shrugged, taking a last bite of the apple, and dropped the core on Vetinari’s plate. He stood, touching the brim of his hat in farewell.

‘Time’s a-changin’, Dog-Botherer,’ Downey said over his shoulders as he strode off, whistling a cheery tune.

Vetinari considered the apple core, then picked up his pen and wrote in the crossword answer.

~

Two months passed. Vetinari busied himself with the necessary preparations as Lord Snapcase began to go through a secretary each week. Sybil asked him if he had a date in mind, as they sat sipping brandy under the cover of a mutual associates’ gaudy wedding. He did not. Narrative chronology should not be rushed, Vetinari assured her, a nugget of supposed wisdom he’d learnt during his travels in Lancre. Sybil smiled good-naturedly and said the narrative better hurry up while there was still enough left to salvage a story.

Downey always seemed to be around the corner. Vetinari mused that scarcely a week went by without the other happening to be walking down the same street, or stalking along the same rooftop, or browsing at the same store. Since Downey seemed, infuriatingly, to be the only person who comprehended Vetinari’s movements in the city _without being told_, Vetinari did his utmost to limit these instances. (Not least because Downey’s customary greeting of ‘Oh, Dog-Botherer, fancy seeing you’ was so gratingly contrived – though how little Downey cared about the overt transparency of such a remark was a rather succinct example of relaxed entitlement that Vetinari found quite interesting to study.)

It was therefore rather perturbing to see Downey looking utterly despondent. The word ‘glum’ might have been appropriately applied were it not for the stronger than usual hint of violence in Downey’s demeanour.

When Vetinari finally managed to corner Downey in a suitably discreet location (even if it did mean putting up with Rosie’s knowing expression) he expected to find a whirlwind of destruction. Instead, Downey was still as a statue, perched on the edge of the bed. His fists were clenched so tight the knuckles were white. Vetinari considered the man in front of him. Downey, whose volatile boyhood temper had matured into the silent and controlled aggression of gentlemen – and every gentleman had a limit before that control snapped. Hublanders called it ‘berserker’. But Downey seemed to have passed through mindless rage to a cold fury on the other side. He didn’t look up as Vetinari entered, and his words were astonishingly even.

‘They killed his daughter.’

Vetinari blinked, before slowly sitting down next to him on the threadbare quilt, so that their thighs were just brushing. ‘Tell me.’

The thugs Lord Snapcase sent to Klatch hadn’t been assassins, not mercenaries, not even thieves. That was all they were – thugs. Assassins don’t inhume in streets in broad daylight. They don’t mow the victim down while he’s walking through the markets with his daughter. Don’t smash the daughter’s skull under cartwheels just because she was in the way, just because she was there. Not so indiscriminately, so carelessly. Clients aren’t left to rot in the dust among camel shit. Victims that were never part of the contract aren’t tossed into the gutter for flies to settle on greying skin. Expectant wives aren’t left for days to wonder what happened, cradling swollen bellies and hunched retching over cracked basins, when someone finally thinks to identify the bodies. Assassins leave receipts. They don’t find a pub to spend their pay in and boast about an easy job.

‘The killers?’

‘Dealt with,’ came the terse reply. His knuckles were the angry red of fading cuts and bruises. ‘Just the man himself left now.’ Downey stood suddenly, jaw clenched.

‘Whatever idiocy you’re planning – ’ Vetinari began, but was interrupted.

‘They killed his daughter!’

‘Ludo wouldn’t want you to waste your life on revenge!’ Vetinari snapped, standing as well. He knew that at any other time Downey would see how rattled he was. At any other time, that would disturb him.

‘I’m not,’ Downey said. Vetinari raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m saving the city.’

‘Downey – ’

He swung his head around, gaze finally meeting Vetinari’s, dark eyes full of manic intent. ‘You are ready, aren’t you? Because I’m not waiting around for that scag to stop breathing, and it would be rather a shame if you weren’t all set up to take the Patricianship after my death.’

Vetinari wanted to shout at him. He wanted to hit Downey, right in that ridiculously square jaw, scream at him for presuming so much. He wanted to shove him out of the way, throw him down on the bed where the only dangers were cheap sheets and mothballs. Wanted to wrap his arm around him, hold him close and tight. There were a lot of things Vetinari wanted to do to Downey.

More than anything, Vetinari wanted what he had always wanted, which was to knock some sense into the ridiculous man in front of him. But Downey was being sensible.

Right now, all that stood between Vetinari and the Patricianship was the continuing beating of Snapcase’s cruel, mad heart. If Downey killed him, in revenge for Snapcase’s treatment of the Assassins, Vetinari would be free from suspicion. It was the perfect cover, and it would remove Downey from the equation, a string of chaotic variables with a too-charming smile that Vetinari knew could not be allowed to stay in his life.

Right now, all that stood between Downey walking out that door to his death was Vetinari.

‘Well?’ Downey asked darkly.

Vetinari suddenly, viscerally, remembered a book passage he’d read long ago, tucked away in the musty, familiar corner of the Guild Library. _Narrative casualty is a principle underlying the potential potency of many a story_. Ironically, it was Ludo that he’d shown the passage to, with a scathing laugh at the author for misspelling ‘causality.’ Ludo had smiled wanly, ‘If you say so.’

‘You can make it a proper contract if you like Dog-Botherer,’ Downey said impatiently, ‘Doesn’t make a difference to me. I’ll be dead.’ (He did not say ‘_It makes no difference where I am when you’re Patrician. This version of you will be gone. We won’t be anything to each other, you wouldn’t risk the city like that. I wouldn’t risk you like that_.’)

‘It’s ironic that the only person that could persuade you otherwise when you’re this stubbornly committed to a suicidal idea was Ludo,’ Vetinari mused. (He did not say ‘_What of the son his widow birthed not three days past? Ludo would want you to care for him._’ He knew Downey had already ensured the boy would have scholarships at both the Assassins and Teachers Guild when the time came.) ‘Give me three days.’

‘Three days?’ Downey all but growled.

Vetinari’s expression remained neutral, ‘Three days. There are a few more pieces I need to organise. On the third evening, make your move then. That will be the optimal time to make a successful move.’ How do you tell someone that you don’t want them to be a casualty of your narrative?

‘Snapcase is worth more dead than I am alive.’ Downey stated bluntly. (He did not say ‘_And you, in that office, is worth more than any single life in this whole damn city_.’)

‘Three days,’ Vetinari repeated, ‘It will be the easier transition for the city. Besides, you might still be of value to the city. To the Guild.’ He didn’t know how to say he wasn’t sure if he trusted anyone else to stop him, if he went the way Snapcase and Winder had gone. ‘My first duty will be to Ankh-Morpork, but the city needs the Guild and the Guild needs someone to put it first. Don’t be selfish and kill yourself just because your friend is dead.’

Downey was silent, just for a moment, but a moment that stretched between them. A moment that covered every childish taunt from the first day they met, every scathing look and withering debate, every object thrown, every foot stuck out to trip, every petty pointless bit of bickering. Every fist, every grab and pinch and flick, every wrestling match where limbs were locked together and chests were heaving. Every time a head was banged against the wall, every time knees bruised from kneeling on the rough wooden floor, every time fingers twined together or wound in hair and pulled. Every time a hand dragged them down a corridor, every look of expectation. Every click of a door locking and the breathless laughs of relief to have at each other once again. Every bruise they had to hide, hide until they all faded away.

‘Alright,’ Downey nodded finally. ‘I’ll do my best to survive inhuming Snapcase, and then I’ll do my best for the Guild. You better be worth Ankh-Morpork.’

‘The city will always come first,’ Vetinari said simply. There was brief discussion of logistics, a final handshake, and the door closed on an empty room.

~ _(In the Oblong Office_) ~

Downey put twenty years into the kiss. More than twenty years, if he was being honest. What a mind-bending concept, to be able to pick out specific points of time wherein the path of his life redirected so drastically, and still not know when the whole nebulous thing had started. Because truthfully, part of him had seen those twists and turns coming and he had still hurtled towards them as fast as he could. What a strange idea it is, to accept, to _want_, second place in the heart of the boy he had teased.

He kissed Vetinari until he ran out of breath, and he kept kissing him until he was so light-headed that he would faint. With more reluctance than he had expected, Downey drew away and took a shuddering breath.

Or, he tried to draw away.

Vetinari’s hand snaked up and grabbed his collar, pulling him down to press their foreheads together, both breathing heavy, neither willing to open their eyes.

‘The city comes first,’ Vetinari murmured against his lips, ‘And you are part of the city.’

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! This work was a labour of love, but I'm glad it's finally finished. Let me know what you think.  
Downey/Vetinari needs more love and many more fics. I'd love to write more of them, but I'm fresh out of ideas and way too prone to procrastination - but if you have any ideas please leave a comment :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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